Idiots Don't Catch Colds
by ChaosandMayhem
Summary: Ludwig is the farthest thing from a nursemaid, but Feliciano has caught a cold and needs some TLC. Gilbert's not about to help...some GerIta, mostly just friendship. Oneshot!


Hello Hetalia fans! :) I've recently fallen in love with Hetalia, so this is my first foray into the fandom! :) Enjoy! And, as always, a huge thanks to my beta-reader Belphegor, who was kind enough to beta this while _she_ was recovering from a cold! Grazie, Bel! :D

_Warning_: Some GerIta ahead. And also Hungary/Austria or Hungary/Prussia, depending on where you're tilting your head. :3

_I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers or any variant thereof. If I did, Austria, Sweden, and Turkey would all mysteriously disappear. :D _

* * *

It had come to the attention of many that Ludwig was willing to put up with a lot from Feliciano, extending to the cowardly nation a patience that many didn't believe he had. Even when the Italian kept tossing the safety pin instead of the grenade, the worst punishment he received was a ten-minute long verbal thrashing. Had anyone else been that stupid, Ludwig would have kicked their sorry behind from Europe to North America and back again.

However, there was one habit of Feliciano's that never failed to irk the German.

Ludwig checked his watch for the third time in ten minutes, muttering curses under his breath. "Where is that lazy bastard?"

Feliciano never, ever failed to be late.

Ludwig was standing outside of his house, glower diminishing the bright sunshine and the cheery flowers seeming to shrink back away from him. Spring was an excellent time of year for training…if Feliciano bothered to get out of bed.

Ludwig sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd gotten out of bed extra quietly this morning, as to not disturb the sleeping Feliciano—who had, once again, wound up in Ludwig's bedroom. The nation could be very sneaky when he wanted to be.

He'd probably learned it from 'big brother France'.

Ludwig snarled to himself and barged back into the house, standing to his full height to anticipation of bullying Feliciano out of the bedroom and onto the field. He'd make him run an extra ten minutes for lost time—

The sound of retching halted Ludwig in his tracks. "Italia?" he called gruffly.

"Ve…blegh." Was the only response he received.

Ludwig followed the sound of vomiting into the bathroom.

Feliciano was slumped in front of the toilet, his head resting against the cool porcelain. He was half-dressed, Ludwig noted with a twinge of regret, in an attempt to join Ludwig outside.

"Feliciano?" Ludwig crouched down beside Feliciano, brushing the sweat-slick auburn hair aside. "You're…"

Feliciano sniffled. "Mi dispiace, Doitsu." He hoisted himself up, every action an effort, and vomited into the toilet again. "I don't feel so well…"

Ludwig half-frowned before hoisting Feliciano onto his shoulder, carrying him out of the bathroom.

He was almost to the top of the stairs before Feliciano jolted, turning his head weakly towards the front door. "Training…"

"Our training for today is how to recover from an illness." Ludwig replied curtly. "That's always a valuable lesson."

Feliciano rested his head against Ludwig's shoulder, sighing. "Grazie, Doitsu."

He was silent as Ludwig put him in bed, wrapping the covers around him securely, and fetched a small bowl and a bath towel. "If you need to vomit, do it in here. Understand?" Ludwig pointed to the bowl, which fitted into Feliciano's lap nicely. "Erm…get some sleep. A soldier is no good unless he gets some decent sleep. And…erm…I'll get you some tissues, or something."

Feliciano nodded, his face brightening a little at the thought of extra sleep.

Ludwig stood back as the Italian made himself comfortable under the covers. There was a faint red blush on Feliciano's cheeks, his hair matted to his forehead, trembling slightly under the covers. Every thirty seconds or so he coughed loudly.

"Japan said idiots couldn't catch colds." Ludwig muttered.

Speaking of Japan, perhaps he should call Kiku for help. Or Roderich. Or _someone_.

He was Germany, for goodness' sake. He wasn't a nursemaid. He didn't coddle nations like they were small children! He was rough, and tough, and in control and—

"Doitsu?"

Feliciano was sitting up again, or at least attempting to. "Could you make some pasta?"

"No." Ludwig shook his head. "Pasta isn't going to make you feel better."

Feliciano frowned, but when he opened his mouth a cough escaped him instead of an argument. Ludwig took the chance to escape the room, shutting the door behind him. He could still hear Feliciano's sharp complaints from behind the door, complaints that faded away into muttered Italian curses, and finally into silence.

**...**

_Flu Symptoms Often Include:_

Fever

Aches and pains

Chills

Tiredness

Cough

Runny nose

Be sure to get plenty of rest!

"Crap." Ludwig shut the healthy-living book with excess force, shoving it back onto the bottommost shelf of the bookcase where he had found it. "He's got the flu."

"So just pick up some medicine for him," Gilbert grumbled from the couch. "It's not a difficult thing to do, West." The nation took a long gulp from the mug of beer he held, eyes glued to the television.

Ludwig closed his eyes, massaging his eyelids for a long moment. "Will you take care of him?"

"Yep," Gilbert muttered in response, flipping through the channels.

Ludwig sighed and stood, pulling on his coat. "Don't start any wars while I'm gone."

"Please," Gilbert rolled his eyes, "the great Prussia doesn't start fights. He ends them."

Ludwig rolled his eyes in response, slamming the door firmly behind him.

**...**

Elizabeta browsed through the bakery aisle at leisure, a small smile playing around her pretty face. Roderich had extended an invitation to dinner towards her, one that she was keen to accept. She stood over the cakes, wondering which one she should take along with her, when a tall figure caught her eye.

Elizabeta turned, eyebrows arching as she watched Ludwig place some Italian bread into his cart, which was already loaded with bananas, orange juice, popsicles, and chicken noodle soup. "No wurst?" she inquired playfully as Ludwig walked by her.

The German had been so preoccupied with his list that he hadn't notice Elizabeta until she had spoken. He jumped a foot into the air, banging his knee against the cart. "Arrrgh." He rubbed his knee ruefully, even as he faced Elizabeta. "Oh. Er, good afternoon, Hungary."

"Feeling a bit under the weather?" Elizabeta peered into Ludwig's cart. It was full of healthy food and a wide range of medicine, from cough drops to some kind of syrup that was guaranteed to knock you out for twelve hours.

"Nein." Ludwig shook his head, regaining his composure. "Italia has the flu."

Elizabeta frowned. "Poor thing! Have you given him any pasta?"

"No…?"

"Pasta will perk him right up! It's like a miracle drug designed specifically for Feliciano."

Ludwig nodded, recalling Feliciano mentioning that he had spent most of his childhood with Roderich. How the Austrian had managed to keep little Feliciano in line was a mystery to him. Then a thought occurred to him. "But I've never made pasta!" he blurted out. "And Italia is such a gourmet, if I tried to feed him the store-bought stuff—"

"He'll eat it if you make it." Elizabeta winked suggestively before turning back to the cakes, picking up a chocolate one at random.

Ludwig stared at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh…nothing." With a gentle laugh, Elizabeta walked away, a wide smile stretching across her face as she left a baffled Ludwig behind.

**...**

After the brief episode at the supermarket, Ludwig returned home with two armloads of groceries and a mind set to try his hand at making pasta. _Maybe Feliciano will be too sick to notice…_

Predictably, Gilbert was still sitting on the couch, watching television. "Your boyfriend is in the bathroom, throwing up again."

Ludwig stopped short, his heart skipping a beat. "What?"

"Yeah." Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck, not aware that Ludwig was glaring daggers into his heart. "I gave him some beer, thought it would him a bit of color…"

"MEIN GOTT!" Ludwig dropped the groceries, flung himself over the couch, and grabbed his older brother by the collar. "YOU DID WHAT?"

"Sheesh, West, I gave him beer, not drain cleaner." Gilbert attempted to pry Ludwig off of him, to little avail. "Alcohol always cheers us up when we're down, I figured it might work for him—"

"HE'S AN ITALIAN, YOU DUMMKOPF!" Ludwig was now inches away from Gilbert's face, screaming so loudly that Gilbert actually paled a shade or two. "YOU DON'T GIVE AN ITALIAN BEER TO PERK HIM UP!"

"…Doitsu?"

Gilbert sank back in relief as Ludwig released him, the German standing hastily to address a pale and shaky Feliciano, who stood swaying by the television. Feliciano's eyes went from Ludwig to Gilbert and back again in confusion. "Is…is everything all right?"

"Fine, Italia. I was just giving Gilbert some…practical lessons." Ludwig aimed a vengeful kick at Gilbert, who scooted off the couch just in time. "How are you feeling?"

Feliciano ignored the question, his gaze on the dropped groceries. "You…bought pasta."

"Yes. Hungary told me that it would cheer you up." Behind Ludwig, Gilbert winced at the mention of Hungary, face burning slightly.

"You're…going to make me pasta?" Instantly Feliciano stood straighter, practically beaming with joy.

"Yes. But only if you get back in bed."

The response to Ludwig's demand was a flying tackle from across the room, so hard that Ludwig fell back onto the couch with Feliciano on top of him. "Ah, Doistu, grazie mille! So cucinerai bene!"

The Italian promptly went back to his room, skipping as he did so.

Gilbert sat down again, resting his chin in his hands as he studied his little brother's steadily reddening face. "Your boyfriend is pretty touchy-feely, huh?"

**...**

Five cookbooks, twenty pasta recipes, three burnt attempts, and two-and-half hours later, Ludwig shoved a steaming plate of chicken marsala into Feliciano's eager hands. "I hope you appreciate what I had to go through for that," Ludwig muttered, showing Feliciano his burned pinky finger.

"Mi dispiace, Doitsu." Feliciano managed through a mouth full of pasta-and-chicken deliciousness. He grinned as he swallowed. "But this is great! Are you sure you don't have some Italian blood in you?"

"No." Ludwig shook his head before producing a glass of water and two small pills. "Now take these."

Feliciano obeyed without protest, swallowing the pills in one gulp. But as Ludwig turned to leave, he almost jumped from the bed. "Wait!" He grabbed Ludwig's hand, clutched it tightly. "Stay? Please?"

He must have been catching Feliciano's flu, that was the only explanation for why his heart was suddenly pounding and blood was rushing to his face. He wrenched his hand out of Feliciano's grasp.

The pounding stopped.

Odd.

Ludwig sighed and sat down next to Feliciano. "All right. But for five minutes."

Feliciano snuggled back down under the blankets, a grin stuck to his face. "All right."

A few moments later the Italian's breathing became soft and easy, punctuated by the occasional cough or sniffle. Ludwig closed his eyes, sliding down until he was stretched out next to Feliciano.

_Five minutes…_

Ludwig awoke several hours later, cursing as he saw the silvery moon shining outside the window. "It figures—" he began, but froze when he noticed Feliciano standing in front of the window, hands clasped tightly.

Ludwig sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "If you're wishing for Britain to get another headache—"

"Nope!" Feliciano turned around, face shining with health. Apparently, pasta _had_ done him good. "I'm just thanking my lucky stars that I have a friend like you to take care of me!" He beamed at the stunned Ludwig.

He must have been catching Feliciano's cold. That was the only explanation for his sudden dizziness and the way his breath seemed to hitch.

Well, that was what he got for playing nursemaid.

Ludwig rolled over, facing the wall as Feliciano crawled back into bed next to him. "Buona notte, Doitsu!" Feliciano whispered shrilly.

"Good night, Feliciano."

Unbeknownst to the two nations, Gilbert was peeking through the doorway, grinning widely. "Well, well, West, what have you gotten yourself into now?"

* * *

I'm afraid I had to reign in Gilbert's awesome personality a bit, or else he would have stolen this fic faster than he does Austria's vital regions-*shot*

Also, Hungarian cameo! I'm still not sure how she wound up here. :) Her yaoi senses must have been tingling.

Mi dispiace-I'm sorry (Italian)

Grazie mille-A thousand thanks (Italian)

So cucinerai bene!-I know you will cook well! (Italian)

Dummkopf- Idiot (German)

Thanks for reading! ~Chaos


End file.
